


(You Send Me A) Postcard

by honorablementioned



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 18th Century, Dark Will Graham, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Pirate Hannibal, Will Whump, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 01:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honorablementioned/pseuds/honorablementioned
Summary: Will checks the coordinates that each declaration contains, matches them to the map he keeps framed in his small, shore side home. With each point he marks, closer and closer to the island as the years continue on, his chest swells and nearly bursts, threatening to erupt until the next bottle comes. Then, he'll repeat; ache and wait and hope and swell, biding his time on the shore once more.Soon, my darlingalways ends each note received. Will murmurs that to himself, to the ocean, as she keeps him company and brings him back to himself. Some days, but not most, are cruel to him. It's too much to bear to look out onto the horizon, too much to think about.--Will waits for his captain to come home and only has the sea to keep him company.





	(You Send Me A) Postcard

The incoming tide sweeps against Will's bare feet. The water brushes his ankles and soaks his legs with each forceful wave before she crashes against the sandy shore. 

The current is violent today; distraught, eager to lapse into action instead of her usual calm demeanor. Will finds it mesmerizing, and he looks out towards the horizon as more waves continue to roll in to him. She's calling for Will, he's realized, whenever she gets in this mood. It happens more often now a days, more often than Will would like to hope for. 

Every day he stands and watches and waits for the onslaught of harsh waters. Every day, for the past three years, Will has sat himself on the sand of this island and hoped that she would send him another message, another sign that he should keep hoping beyond the empty promises of sloshing water against his skin.

He is a fisherman who likes the soft noises that carry out on the beach. He admires the gulls and the crabs as they reign over their territory. The scent of salt and musk in the air fills his nose and the loose sand crumbles in his hands whenever he takes to his usual spot; watching and waiting and begging for change, for those empty promises to be filled at last. He hears the slap of water against the shore more than he's heard any other human voice in his lifetime, it seems like.

Most days it's bearable. Most days it doesn't ache as bad as he's known it to. Will soaks up the sun and shudders with every light breeze that passes. He strays just far enough from the shore to gather and forage for sustenance to keep him through sundown and the morning after, for wood to burn to keep him warm as he sits next to the ocean in the evenings. The days blend and merge into one another as the years pass; one, two, three, until he only knows the difference between dawn and dusk. He has the sea for company, and she only speaks to him like she currently is, with harsh tides or playful laps.

Sometimes when she speaks, she passes along bottles that wedge into the soft, wet sand. Some mornings - not often, but enough for the hope to swell and to keep Will coming back to her - he'll find the corked glass and open it with shaking hands. On those mornings he spends hours upon hours memorizing the contents of the bottle. The parchment is always crinkled and creased from its journey across the waters, miles and miles away from its sender. The swooping script covers every corner and edge, staining the page with current coordinates and devotion that Will smudges with unconscious tears.

Will checks the coordinates that each declaration contains, matches them to the map he keeps framed in his small, shore side home. With each point he marks, closer and closer to the island as the years continue on, his chest swells and nearly bursts, threatening to erupt until the next bottle comes. Then, he'll repeat; ache and wait and hope and swell, biding his time on the shore once more.

_Soon, my darling_ always ends each note received. Will murmurs that to himself, to the ocean, as she keeps him company and brings him back to himself. Some days, but not most, are cruel to him. It's too much to bear to look out onto the horizon, too much to think about. 

On these days the sea is kinder to him. She nudges at his feet and pulls him down to soak him to the bone, shaking him from any trance he's fallen into. She'll push him up onto the shore and try to reach her tide towards the direction of his home. She knows when he needs to look at the words again, knows when he's close to his breaking point. She always delivers his heart to him, always makes sure the messages get passed along, even when there are no bottles to be delivered.

Today marks year three of his absence. Will remembers the ordeal, remembers each and every night as he closes his eyes. It's always the same, never influenced by imagination, just a replay of heartbreak and slander.

_The guards are on the shore of their home. They assault Will, demanding to know where the captain who has double crossed them is. They demanded a hanging, demanded for revenge of the traitor that deceived them with sins of lying and murder. It did not matter that their cove was out of territory, for it was a sea-wide man hunt for his captain, issued by the Queen herself. It was a reckoning, guard captain Jack Crawford had said, for his captain who had betrayed them all._

_His captain, who committed deeds that no ordinary sea explorer would dare partake in. His captain, who brought Will back the flesh of enemies and roasted their carcasses for consumption. His captain, who Will knew would be back from his most recent hunt any moment, who he was waiting for, who he trusted and loved and swore not to turn against._

_His captain, who he promised himself to in sickness and in health, under no law, and no witnesses to say otherwise._

_Will had bitten his tongue and watched them plunder through their home, in search of evidence and foul play. Their belongings were strewn and stepped on and defiled, and all Will could do was watch them destroy everything he had had to his name, everything that his captain had given him and cherished alongside him._

_When the vessel had come to shore, Will had watched their assault of the captain and his crew. The men and women were taken in shackles. His captain, his husband, had just enough time to give him a fleeting press of their lips with a fevered promised of, "I will be back, my darling," before they tore him from Will's side and hauled him away. They had left with both ships, both crews, and Will's life in captivity._

The first bottle had washed up only a week after that fateful day. The only words written were hastily strewn across the parchment, reassuring him of his captain's promise.

_I will be back, my darling._

No mention of how long he would be, nor any mention of current situation until the next bottle.

Three years of bottles, of promises and added coordinates over time. Three years of hope that Will keeps to this very day.

His captain wouldn't be killed so easily, he knew. While he was unaware of the world outside of their island, of their shore side home, he knew for certain that his captain would be coming home to him alive and well. Will understood he was a hard set man when they met and had learned a great deal more than he expected to during their courtship. He became more interesting with each meeting between them, and Will knew it would take a lot more than imprisonment to break the spirit that his captain held.

The waves are roaring now, though, and bring Will out his memories. He stands in the water and watches again as the tide comes in. The incoming water practically punches him in the gut and he stumbles onto his backside, sending him right onto the damp shore. Annoyance starts to crawl its way in and Will starts to get back up to go towards his home, but the ocean pulls him back down again and this time she has his full attention.

It's so small on the horizon, where the sky meets the sea, but it's certainly there. A tiny dot that moves steadily towards him, moment by moment, growing as the ocean picks up her current. The waves rock and sway the boat - the ship - up and down, up and down, and Will cannot tear his eyes away now. All thoughts of leaving are out of his mind and he watches with rapt interest. He's paralyzed and drenched and cannot move, even as the ship comes closer and closer into view. 

The vessel finally docks and washes up onto the shore, and still Will can't tear himself away from his spot in the water. Ropes are cast down and anchors are set, and the crew is certainly loud but none are in Will's line of sight.

But then someone comes up to the edge of the deck and hauls themselves over, sliding down the rope with ease as if they've done it a million times before. Will can feel his body begin to shake with anticipation, with nervousness, with the hope that's been swelling for the last three years.

His hands come up to cover his mouth as the tears well up and blur his vision. The figure - the man - is rushing over to him. Heavy boots sink into the sand and he's closer, features more apparent; dark eyes, ashen hair, and sharp accents confirm what he's been hoping for.

"Hannibal - " Will chokes as strong arms wrap around him. The shirt that Hannibal is wearing is soaked with his tears now as he buries his face in the crook of the man's neck. He's heaving, shuddering, wrapping his arms around Hannibal's shoulders to draw him closer. 

"Will," Hannibal murmurs, pressing his face into Will's dampened hair. "I'm back, darling." He hugs Will close, grip on his hips near bruising, but Will doesn't comprehend the pressure. The only thing that has his attention is that his captain, his husband, his _Hannibal_ is home at last. 

"Don't leave me again, you can't - " Will gives another shaking sob, " - I'm not letting you leave alone again."

Hannibal tries to shush him, tries to calm him, but Will tightens his grip and shakes his head. Three years of separation and he's not letting his voice be silenced. 

"You're taking me wherever you go, Hannibal. I'm not doing this again. If it happens, you let them know I was in on it. I would rather spend my life in a cell next to yours or hang myself alongside you instead of sitting here like a lame horse waiting to be put out of his misery. I'm not - I _can't_ \- "

"I understand, darling, I do," Hannibal reassures him. "I would rather not risk your safety, you know this. But I cannot be without you again. I won't. You're mine, as I am yours, and I will not put us through that separation again."

"Promise me, Hannibal." Will looks up at his captain, his husband, with a fierce gaze. "Promise me that if we go, we go together."

"I promise, Will." Hannibal reaches up and cups one side of Will's face, holding their stare. "We will go together. This is all I've ever wanted for you, for us, and I won't deprive you of it any longer."

The waves are calmer down, less of an approaching storm and more of a harsh sweep. The water crashes up against the two of them as they stand on the beach, nearly knocking them over, and Will clings onto Hannibal tighter with a broken laugh.

"Kiss me, you bastard," He says, and Hannibal can only chuckle in return, leaning in to press their mouths together in a long overdue kiss. Will tastes like the sea; salty and musky and something entirely his own, and Hannibal knows he can never go another day without this man by his side again.

**Author's Note:**

> A confusing AU but I mainly just wanted to write Will feels and an alternative "Hannibal goes to jail" short.
> 
> No beta, so all mistakes are my own.


End file.
